


A Very Small Deception

by 2bbornot2bb



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-04
Updated: 2015-03-29
Packaged: 2018-03-10 11:37:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 18,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3288944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/2bbornot2bb/pseuds/2bbornot2bb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Not exactly sure where this is going yet (I never map out any of my stories, and it works for me – the fun is finding where the characters take me!), but Phryne will tease Jack mercilessly, Jack will resist Phryne reluctantly (at least for now) and somewhere along the way a crime will be solved. Rated M for future chapters.</p><p>Chapters one to six have already been posted on fanfiction for a while, but I wanted to post here as well now that Chapter seven is almost ready to publish.  Remaining chapters will be posted on both sites. Thanks for reading!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An Insignificant Detail

Detective Inspector Jack Robinson surreptitiously flicked a tiny bead of sweat from his upper lip. His expression froze, shock tinged ever so slightly with fear. He blinked slowly and drew in a shallow breath to steady his nerves, but awareness of the danger he was in coiled his body with tension. The fight or flight response kicked in and he spoke quietly through stiff lips, keeping his eyes locked dead ahead.

"Miss Fisher, kindly remove your hand from my thigh."

Phryne Fisher's smile curved into a moue of regret, and she leaned in closer to her partner's cheek, her breath fanning his lips as she whispered, "Why, Jack," she purred, "I do believe you're blushing." She paused and watched with amusement as his eyes widened slightly when her hand inched further up his leg. "There's really no need to be so coy. After all, we _are_ newlyweds."

* * *

_Three Days Earlier …_

Mr Butler and Dot were sat at the kitchen table, the comfortable silence between them keeping time with the ticking of the mantle clock. While Dot's eyes devoured the butter stained pages of her precious copy of The John Bull Prize-Winning Cake Recipe Book, Mr Butler was industriously using a stub of pencil to make his particular brand of hieroglyphics next to the racing column of that morning's _Sun News-Pictorial._ They were both contented to be so employed for now.

The sound of a key turning in the front door disturbed the peaceful tableau and spurred them to action. Miss Fisher was home, bringing with her the movement and light that invariably followed in her wake.

Within moments the kitchen table had been cleared, jackets donned and hair patted into place, and Dot and Mr Butler were both stood smiling at the front door as it opened and their mistress entered in a cloud of _Mitsouko_.

Unsurprisingly, Miss Fisher was mid-sentence, her laugh unconcerned as she spoke over her shoulder to her companion. She smiled widely in greeting at Dot as she divested herself of coat and handbag, murmuring quiet thanks to Mr Butler as he took them from her. Without taking a breath she began issuing instructions to Dot, an edge of unrestrained excitement to her voice.

"Can you pack a couple of suitcases for me Dot? Enough for a week or so, at least. Nothing too extravagant, just some nice comfortable clothes for a few days in the country."

A groan heralded her companion into the house. Also unsurprisingly, it was Jack Robinson who entered the hallway on her heels, his face a picture of exasperation.

"Really, Miss Fisher, I'm beginning to wonder whether you have a hearing impediment. For the final time, you are not coming."

Phryne stopped and turned to look at him through narrowed eyes, her voice cooler, but still with an edge of humour. "Why Inspector, I don't believe you can do anything to stop me. The last time I checked I was a free woman, independent of means with no external inhibition on my movements."

Jack's pressed his lips together angrily, making a line only saved from being harsh by the chiselled shape that defined them. He glanced at Dot and Mr Butler hoping for support, but met only serene facial expressions. Although neither had a clue as to what the argument between their employer and the inspector was about, they had ample experience in calm acceptance of whatever Miss Fisher's latest escapade might entail, and it would not even enter their minds to question her decisions.

"Tea in the drawing room, Miss Fisher?" Mr Butler enquired blandly, ignoring the familiar frisson of tension that was building between the new arrivals. He flashed a wry glance at Dot, who bit down on a smile and turned away to set about the task she had been given.

"Thank you. That would be lovely." Phryne led the way, confident that Jack would follow her.

He waited politely until she was seated, before launching another attack. Taking a step further into the room, he held out his hands palms up in appeal.

"Miss Fisher, there is simply no place for you in this investigation - "

Whatever imprecation Phryne muttered under her breath was lost in the rest of Jack's summary ruling. He ignored the interruption and continued in a weary voice, "- as I have explained to you already, numerous times. I am involved in an undercover operation that has taken weeks to set up. My cover has already been decided. The circumstances surrounding - "

"Then we will simply change your cover story." Phryne cut through his words impatiently, waving her hand in the air to dismiss any objections, "It's an insignificant detail." Her voice dropped. "Jack, I must be there with you. You know we work better when we're together." Jack appeared to be weakening, acknowledging that fact with the hint of a rueful grin that was wiped off his face with her next words. "Nothing could be easier. We can tell everyone I'm your blushing bride."

Jack flung himself a little petulantly into a handy wing backed chair, ignoring her preposterous proposal as being a total flight of fancy.

"Phyne, you never cease to amaze me. The things you come out with!" Jack shook his head and scrubbed his hands over his face, unwittingly messing his hair so that it fell a little rakishly over his brow. He hadn't even noticed he'd slipped into using her first name, such was his frustration at her pig-headedness.

Phryne decided she rather liked both the look and the way he said her name, but refrained from making comment about either. She waited for him to continue, confident that whatever impediment he thought he was putting in the way of her participation could be easily overcome. The Honourable Miss Phryne Fisher was not accustomed to letting anything get in the way of what she wanted.

When he didn't speak immediately, Phryne decided to push her advantage and rose to approach him, her face earnest. "Besides, I know these people far better than you."

That brought his head up. "What do you mean?" His eyes narrowed with suspicion, "Miss Fisher, you don't _actually_ know anyone there, do you?"

Phryne looked away evasively and shrugged. "I _may_ be acquainted with the second son of the family."

When Jack finally looked at her his smile was smug. "Well that settles it."

"What ever do you mean?" She eyed him suspiciously. Jack had an ace up his sleeve, she could tell.

"Phryne, my cover is the new gardener at the Morrison's Estate. I can guarantee no-one you are acquainted with would ever believe _you_ -" His eyes swept from her satin clad toes to the jewelled headband on her head, an appreciative gleam softening the reality of his words, "- were my wife."

For the first time that afternoon, Phryne lost a little of her aplomb at the sight of the self serving grin on her partner's face. But she rallied nonetheless.

"Oh, Jack, never underestimate my abilities." With that she gave him an insouciant smile and sashayed to the drawing room door, calling up the stairs, "Cancel the packing, Dot. We're shopping off the rack."


	2. A Slight Misunderstanding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And … the story continues. Jack and Phryne head off to do what they do best; but first they must reach a détente. Not always easy when you each think you’re in the right. Just a bit of fun on the journey.
> 
> Oh, and in case it needs stating: I own nothing to do with the very superior ABC Drama, Miss Fisher’s Murder Mysteries. If I held any influence at all our intrepid heroes would have fallen into bed with each other by the second episode (sorry, I’m not very classy). But then, all that delicious unresolved sexual tension would have been resolved, and how boring would that be?
> 
> Apologies for any liberties I may have taken with actual facts – time is sadly limited at the moment so research has been sketchy, and the urge to write too great to ignore.

Jack Robinson chose a backward facing seat on the train that would deliver them to Bairnsdale, leaving the window free for his travelling companion, Miss Phryne Fisher.  A faintly dyspeptic look came over his face as he mentally corrected himself: his _‘wife’_ , aka ‘Mrs Frances Richardson’ to his ‘John’.  Just how Phryne had wheedled her way onto the case would probably remain a mystery to him for all eternity.  All he knew was that by ten o’clock the morning after her pronouncement that she was going with him, an order came through from above that the Honourable Miss Phryne Fisher was officially a consultant, and a back story that included his new ‘wife’ was hurriedly constructed, much to his disgust. Well, damned if he was going to make it too easy for her!  He settled back into the leather bench and tipped his hat over his eyes, his arms crossed over his chest.

The lady in question wisely kept her own counsel for the first hour or so of their journey, outwardly unaffected by Jack’s uncommunicative demeanour.  She judged by the sour look on the part of Jack’s face she could see, that discretion in these circumstances was indeed the better part of valour, and kept her smiles for the scenery.  Although she found his determined silence tedious after the first few miles, she reluctantly acknowledged that she probably deserved it.  But she knew him well enough to know he wouldn’t hold a grudge for very long, particularly against her.  That was part of the reason they worked so well together. Still, she found didn’t enjoy being ignored by Jack, regardless of the circumstances, nor being on the receiving end of his anger, regardless of how well he managed to subdue it.

The grimy outer suburbs of Melbourne had given way to the gentle rolling foothills at the fringe of the Alpine National Park before Jack had calmed down enough to unstiffen his limbs and start to look around him, although he studiously avoided looking in Phryne’s direction.  Well actually he’d been sending her sidelong glances since Ferntree Gully which she pretended not to notice, but they were almost at Warragul before he actually spoke to her.  She was however under no delusions that it was anything other than Mr Butler’s excellent luncheon hamper that finally cracked the shell of Jack’s feigned indifference.

She was beginning to despair of him ever speaking her again at all when a particularly violent jolt of the train sent her foot into contact with the wicker hamper Mr Butler had stowed under her seat when he’d helped her into the carriage back in Melbourne.  She felt a wave of inspiration that almost made her giddy and she bit down on a smile.  She’d always heard that the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach, although she’d generally found it be in an altogether different direction.  In this instance, though, her target was slightly north of her usual one and she felt the old wives’ tale was worth a try.

She knew his interest was piqued at the first rustle of the waxed brown paper that concealed the hamper’s contents.  Despite himself, Jack placed his hat to one side and sat up just that bit straighter as he eyed the busy workings of her hands with as much nonchalance as he could muster.

“Hungry, Inspector?  We’ve still a fair while before we get to Bairnsdale, and,” she indicated the hamper with a comical grimace, “the ice is starting to melt.  It would be a shame for any of this lovely food to go to waste.” 

Jack looked at her levelly for a moment, weighing the satisfaction of continuing to ignore her against the rumbling of his stomach, before accepting her figurative olive branch with good grace.  “Thank you Miss Fisher, that would be very nice.” 

Jack took the proffered dish from Phryne’s hands with a grunt of pleasure as he inspected the contents; Mr Butler had outdone himself. Knowing Jack’s fondness for  _fruit de mer_ , there was crab, smoked salmon and a particularly fine smoked trout paté to choose from.  He even spotted a tiny jar of Beluga caviar tucked into the corner of the basket, no doubt for Miss Fisher’s benefit as he hated the stuff. 

“Any of those cheesy biscuit things Miss Williams makes?”  Jack asked hopefully. Phryne handed him another packet without comment and watched, fascinated, as he tucked into the food with unabashed pleasure. 

Jack looked out the window.  “Pretty country, don’t you think?  I’ve never been this far east along the coast.”  His tone was conversational and totally unexpected after his unwavering silence for so long.

Phryne shook her head, lost for words at his about turn.  It would seem all those old wives knew a thing or two about men after all. Jack’s dark mood had magically lifted with his first bite. Until that point she had been certain there was nothing a man could do that would surprise her.  Once again it was Jack who had surprised her. 

His smile was almost boyish as he looked back at her.  “You’re not eating? Best enjoy this type of fare while you can, Miss Fisher.  It will be some time before you can indulge those expensive tastes of yours again.”  The Inspector’s tone was teasing, and it had to be said a little indistinct as he tried to speak around another mouthful of food.

Phryne just smiled, “I’m sure the Morrison’s cook is more than capable of producing something adequate.”

Jack took another bite of the delectable paté, closing his eyes in pleasure as the flavours burst on his tastebuds once again.  “I’m sure she is, but I fail to see what difference that’s going to make.”

Phryne was still frowning and Jack shot her a sympathetic look and continued by way of explanation, “I’m afraid I’m not up to much more than a half way decent fry up.  If you want anything more sophisticated you’ll have to do for yourself.”

Phryne continued to look perplexed and it suddenly occurred to Jack that they were yet to properly discuss the case and all that his – their – cover would entail.  He put aside the remains of his meal and tried again, “We’ll have to look after ourselves, Miss Fisher.  After all you can hardly expect -”

“What on earth are you talking about? Although I never thought for a moment we’d be dining with the family, surely there is some arrangement in place for their staff.”

“No doubt, Miss Fisher.  And as a single man I would have been included in that arrangement.  But, as a ‘newly married’ employee in a position of some esteem,” the look he gave her now was edged with irony, “I have graciously been allotted the benefit of a cottage on the grounds. We’re on our own.” He picked up the remains of his meal and crunched through a stick of celery while he watched a variety of emotions flit across Phyrne’s face.  He couldn’t resist a final sally, “What’s the matter, Miss Fisher, accommodations not quite up to your usual standards?” 

Although he instantly regretted the jibe, she looked so comically dismayed Jack laughed out loud, his amusement edged with something vaguely mean spirited.  He shrugged off any misgivings that niggled at him.  It wasn’t often he saw Phryne Fisher quite so nonplussed and he found he was enjoying it.  Perhaps a little too much, but it seemed he hadn’t quite let go of his annoyance at being manipulated after all.

Phryne was thoughtful for a moment before her face morphed into her usual expression of  _sang-froid_ complete with her signature smirk.  “Inspector my  _standards_ have often been the subject of heated discussion, but I can assure you, you won’t be disappointed.”


	3. A Minor Inconvenience

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our handsome hero and his feisty female sidekick have reached their destination and are straight into crime solving before they've even had a chance to unpack. Can our dynamic duo delve deeply into dastardly deeds without dipping into domestic disharmony? Suspend belief and read on … !
> 
> Hope you enjoy. :)

An almighty clap of thunder rolled out an ambiguous welcome to Jack and Phryne as the train pulled into Bairnsdale. The railway station was far more grand than either of the travellers had been expecting, the town itself equally surprising in its genteel beauty. A wide avenue led away from the station proper, with imposing red brick buildings frosted with white stone trim dotted along the wide roadways.

Jack stepped down onto the platform, and turned dutifully to assist his 'wife' disembark. Phryne's fingers curled around his automatically but she paused on the ornate carriage step, taking a moment to look around her with sharp interest. The soaring spire of a church caught her eye almost immediately, deep red framed by a steel grey thunderhead. Dusk had descended a little early in Bairnsdale this day, a dark little welcome to Phryne and Jack to match the dark little business they were there to uncover. Eerie green light shed by the coming storm hung over the town like a threat of violence, and despite the architectural beauty on display, Phryne shuddered.

Sheet lightning ignited the sky overhead as a squall of wind whipped the hem of Phyrne's coat up over her knees. She wasted no time jumping down onto solid ground, seeking the shelter of Jack's arm against the weather. As the first fat drops of rain began to fall, Jack guided them both to cover under the bull nosed verandah of the ticket office. Within moments the noise of the deluge was deafening, almost drowning out the train's whistle as it pulled out of the station in a hiss of steam and smut.

"Was someone meant to meet us?" Phryne asked, her words whipped away by the surging wind. She turned up her collar against the unexpected drop in temperature and couldn't suppress another shiver.

Jack nodded in answer to her question, screwing up his face as he peered up and down the platform. Frustratingly empty, apart from the elderly and now thoroughly damp porter who was stacking their luggage onto a trolley.

Jack raised his voice above the drumming of rain on corrugated iron, "I suggest we find somewhere more comfortable to wait." Ignoring the unappealing waiting room, Phryne searched the street for an establishment that looked more promising. She spotted a youth in the process of lighting the old gas lamps outside a two storey hotel on the other side of the square and smiled with satisfaction. _Definitely an improvement!_ Phryne thought, tugging at Jack's sleeve to get his attention.

He followed her gaze and they shared a grin. He leant close to her ear, "Are you up to making a run for it?"

Never one to resist a challenge she nodded, and squealed with glee as she got the jump on Jack and dashed straight into the rain, with the Inspector hot on her heels. Their entry into the Grand Terminus Hotel Tea Rooms caused quite a stir. They burst in, three parts soaked and laughing breathlessly. Several pairs of very respectable eyes swung around to inspect them, disapproval the general consensus.

Jack sobered almost immediately but Phryne's lips curled into a defiant smile and she returned the stares, unabashed, her hips swaying as she sauntered further into the room. Jack observed her with a little shake of his head and lost no time finding a waitress who showed them to a table at one of the windows. A second girl appeared almost immediately with a tray of tea and scones.

Phryne's brows shot up as the tray was laid before her. She looked at the Inspector with amusement. "Oh dear, tea? I would have much preferred a drink." She removed her gloves and picked up the teapot. "Shall I be mother?"

Jack inclined his head, enjoying himself, but before he could respond a scruffy young lad came up to them and stood at his elbow.

"'Scuse me. You the Mr and Mrs what are going to work at the Morrisons?" At Jack's nod he pulled a crumpled piece of paper out of his pocket. "Got a message here for you." The boy handed it over and pocketed Jack's proffered halfpenny with a wide grin, disappearing as quickly as he had appeared.

Jack scanned the note, "Mr Morrison is sending a car but there is a delay." He looked up at Phryne. "Well, word has got around that we're here, at least. The boy must have asked at the station and the porter sent him over here."

"That makes sense, although …" She paused, a frown forming on her brow.

"What?"

"Mmm. Just a feeling."

Jack scowled slightly. "While I have learned to respect those 'feelings' of yours, you might have to explain it a little better to me."

"Well, Bairnsdale isn't exactly a thriving metropolis, but neither is it a tiny country hamlet. Don't you find it a little odd that we were so easily found? We've been here all of two minutes." She tapped a slender finger on the tabletop and lowered her voice, "Something doesn't feel right."

Jack shrugged, not convinced there was anything to be suspicious about, "We're expected, after all. Alexander Morrison is one of the wealthiest men in the area, a man who has a small army looking after his every need. I don't see anything unusual in any of this. Money makes things happen, as well you know."

Phryne sighed, "Perhaps you're right, Inspector."

Jack shot her a stern look and leant in close to her, whispering. "Careful, dear _wife_ , or we'll be back on the next train to Melbourne because our use here would be limited if the truth of our, er -" he hesitated, trying to find the right word, "- situation got out."

A flush spread over Phryne's cheeks, and she was irritated at herself for such a careless slip. She reached across and impulsively covered Jack's hand with her own by way of apology.

"It won't happen again, my dear _John_." A mischievous smile curled her lips and she slid across to the chair alongside his, running her hand down his arm in a tender gesture. Jack's eyes slid around the room self-consciously and he felt his pulse rate jump.

"Stop fooling around, my dear _Franny_." He ground out, pasting on a fixed smile to fool any potential audience.

The awkward expression of on his face made Phryne laugh out loud, drawing looks again from several occupied tables. "That's what married people do, dear heart. Fool around." She purred, giving in to the impulse to tease him just a little bit more. Jack couldn't manage a suitable come back and just swallowed down on his discomfiture. Hard.

Phryne took pity on him and relaxed back in her chair, pulling out an enamelled compact to check her hair. She pulled a face at her reflection. "Will you excuse me? I need to find somewhere to tidy up."

Jack thought she looked just as polished and perfect as ever, despite their mad dash through the storm, but let her go with a mild, "Of course."

Phryne found herself in a short dead end of a hallway, noise spilling out of the public bar on her left and the only other door leading to the ladies bathroom on the right. The ebb and flow of joviality from the bar area was considerable. It would seem that it was very well patronised for a Wednesday afternoon. Phryne wondered whether perhaps a farmer's market or similar had brought so many customers to the town mid-week, the storm sending them to the pub looking for shelter, just as she and Jack had done. Perhaps the Inspector was right and the Grand Terminus Hotel was simply the preferred meeting place in town. A logical place to seek out new arrivals off the train, with nothing untoward in that.

Inside the well-appointed bathroom, she checked her appearance in the mirror one last time and was about to push the door open to leave when she heard muffled voices right outside the door, voices raised in anger. Her natural curiosity kicked into overdrive when she heard the Morrison name mentioned. She put her shoulder to the heavy door to hold it open a fraction of an inch, and pressed an ear to the gap to try and hear more of the conversation.

Two men were obviously at loggerheads over something, their anger clearly discerned in their now whispered exchange.

"I thought Morrison was in the big smoke?" The first man's voice took on a whiney tone. "Jeez, as if we didn't have enough to bloody worry about."

"Shut your gob and settle down. I dunno what's going on with Morrison, I just know he's on his way here now." The second man let out a sigh. "This is turning into a dog's breakfast."

"Don't I bloody know it? They're ready to go now, but this weather's going to put the kibosh on things if it doesn't bloody well let up."

"I said shut up." A pause while the second man, apparently in charge, thought things through. When it came, his voice was decisive. "Get a message to our friends. We'll move it to Rotamah."

There was a grunt of agreement from the second man, before their footsteps could be heard heading back up the short hallway. Phryne inched the door wider and tried to catch a look at her hall mates, but all she saw was a glimpse of a tweed-clad shoulder as they re-entered the public bar.

_Ruttermer? Radama?_ Phryne didn't recognise the name, but she filed it away to track down as soon as possible. She wasted no time getting back to Jack.

"There's something afoot, husband dear." Phryne couldn't keep the edge of excitement from her voice as she took the seat next to his.

Jack raised his eyebrows in a question, and she closed the gap between them as she discreetly related what she'd just heard. He listened intently, nodding as she stumbled over the unfamiliar place name.

"Do you know where they're talking about?" Phryne asked him, seeing the flicker of recognition cross his face.

Jack slipped a map out of his overcoat pocket and unobtrusively laid it on the table. Folded uppermost was a section of coastline, and he tapped a spot with his finger. "I've been studying the area. I think they mean here, Rotamah Island. It's not far off the coast from the Morrison's estate."

"What do you think it means?"

Jack glanced through the mottled window glass at the storm still raging outside, frustration etched on his face. "I'm not sure, but things might be moving more rapidly than we expected."

He stood abruptly, bundling Phryne into her coat before hastily donning his own. "I fear there's no time to waste. We've got to get out to that estate now."


	4. A Short Sharp Detour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our handsome heroine and her feisty male sidekick get a little side tracked – literally. There will be danger, there will be close bodily contact, there will be tropes aplenty! BUT … will they ever reach the Morrison Estate and live in tantalising togetherness as ‘man and wife’ (duh – of course!)? Will Jack ever get his shirt off in the hot Australian sun (double duh – of course!)? Will there ever be gardening (who cares)???
> 
> Suspend belief, dear readers, and on with the show …

“Seriously, Jack.  This is the fastest form of transportation you could find?”  There was amusement mixed with petulance in Phryne’s voice, and she pouted prettily and pretended to be annoyed.  Despite her comment, Phryne had parted with some serious folding money by way of a sweetener to their begrudging chauffeur, but being that the already heavily laden cart was the only vehicle on the road heading in their direction their options had been limited.  Phryne ran a dubious eye over the hind quarters of the enormous draught horse pulling the dray they were perched upon, and sighed with resignation.  She settled more comfortably on the crate that doubled as their seat, and gave herself up to enjoying the reassuring strength of Jack’s warm body so close beside hers.

Jack just grimaced and pulled the weathered sheet of canvas that served as their shelter a little more securely around himself and his partner, tugging the rough cloth even further over their heads against the night.  They were dry, but only just.  It was fully dark now, the rapidly moving clouds only offering the barest glimpse of the moon or stars.  The rain had settled to an insistent drizzle, but the wind still whipped the droplets around in frenzied eddies.  Their canvas covering made them look comically like part of the load, albeit with four nicely shod feet peeping from under the edge of the stiff fabric.  The rumble of thunder and the occasional flash of sheet lightning in the distance marked the movement of the storm out to sea, punctuating their journey when conversation lagged.

Jack attempted to ignore the scent of his partner’s perfume, heady and distracting at close quarters.  He distracted himself by turning his attention to the driver.  “Much further to the Morrison’s place?” he asked the bulky older man with the reins.  The only outward acknowledgement to Jack’s enquiry was when the man shrugged under his oilskin and pulled the brim of his hat further down his forehead,.  The old man kept his attention on the road and even the quick flick he gave the reins didn’t alter the steady pace of the draught horse’s gait.

“Not much of a conversationalist, is he?”  Phryne remarked dryly, glancing past Jack and pulling a face in the driver’s general direction, safe in the knowledge that the tarpaulin shielded her from the other man’s gaze. She opened her mouth to make another droll comment when a loud crack sliced through her thoughts.  As if in slow motion the driver slumped against Jack. 

It took a moment of shocked disbelief before either Jack or Phryne realised it was the sound of a gunshot they’d heard, a shot that had made its mark and left the driver a dead weight against Jack’s side.  The horse responded to the slackening of the reins by slowing to a halt.  A shudder passed through its body and it let out an uncertain whinny that left a trail of steam in the night air. 

Jack reacted to the attack automatically, using the driver’s body to shield them both as he slid under the canvas to the road and lifted Phryne unceremoniously to the ground.  She looped her arm in his and twisted her body sharply.  The momentum of her body pulled him with her and spun them both around until they were pressed flat against the side of the cart, shielded by the high load.  The whole manoeuvre took a matter of moments, just in time as a second shot splintered the wooden crate they’d been sitting on.

Jack didn’t waste his breath and shoved Phryne away from the cart, grinding out one word, “Run.”  He overtook her easily and leapt into a deep ditch beside the road that offered some cover, grabbing both her hands and guiding her to safety beside him.  They were both oblivious to the mud they were now lying in, breathing heavily at the physical exertion and the threat.  He  flung an arm over her shoulders, and in an undertone heavy with concern, asked, “Are you all right?” 

Phryne nodded, adrenaline robbing her of her voice.  Somewhere along their desperate flight, Jack had lost his hat and his hair fell wetly into his eyes.  Phryne resisted the urge to brush it back and instead went to rise, her pearl handled .38 hot in her hand and glinting in the weak moonlight.  She rose slightly on her knees, ready to take on their attackers, but Jack pulled her back with a hand on her wrist.  She shot him an indignant look, muttering, “Fortune favours the bold, Jack.”

“Phryne, no.” was his whispered entreaty.  A third shot rang out, weakening Phryne’s resolve.  The sound of the splintering of wood was unmistakeable, as the bullet struck the loaded cart once more.  She let Jack pull her close and they both hunkered down low.

This time the horse took fright and set off at a panicked gallop.  Thuds and the sound of breaking glass accompanied the poor beast’s flight, muffling any other sounds that might have given Jack and Phryne a hint of who or how many were involved in the attack. 

They kept still and quiet for several minutes, ears peeled for any sound or movement.  It was almost impossible to get their bearings and tell the direction from which the shot had been fired.  After what seemed like an eternity, Phyrne could stay still no longer, and wriggled free of Jack’s embrace.  She was desperate to move her cramped limbs and, more importantly, see what was going on.

“Stay down.”  Jack spoke harshly, his mouth against her ear, and pulled her back beside him, holding her down with his arm across her waist.  As he did they heard the distinctive sound of a vehicle’s ignition and headlights came on further along the road, illuminating the intervening stretch of highway.  The car crawled towards them, the beam of a torch cleaving through the darkness on either side of the road as the driver searched the scrub.  Phryne and Jack watched cautiously from the relative protection of their hiding place.  Although the rain had stopped, what little moonlight there was only faintly limned the profile of the car. 

Without warning a shrill whistle cleaved through the stillness, coming from about twenty feet away from their hiding place.  Phryne and Jack exchanged stunned looks; neither of them had heard anyone approaching on foot.  They ducked down and instinctively pulled closer to each other to give a lower profile, barely breathing in the tension of the moment.

They heard the car pull up close by, too close for comfort, the unmistakeable sound of metal on metal of the door squealing in protest as it was opened, a few indistinct words spoken between the driver and the man on foot.  Phryne ignored Jack’s scowl and chanced a furtive look.  The flare of a match lit the cabin.  Its light was enough to reveal a glimpse of the driver’s face for a few brief seconds as he lit the cigarette that dangled from his mouth.  Male, in his fifties, with deep scars that scored both cheeks.  Not a face she would forget in a hurry.  His soft-footed companion remained a mystery, merely a tall, slender silhouette in the blink of light, still searching the darkness around him.  The unmistakeable outline of a rifle held closely against his side was a menace they spied simultaneously. Jack grabbed a handful of the fabric of her coat and unceremoniously pulled her back down.

The first man spoke again, the wind carrying his words to the couple hidden from view. “Get in.  We can’t muck around here for too long.  The boss’ll want us down with him, and we’ve got to catch that bugger of a nag before it ends up in bloody Timbuktu.” 

The other man still hesitated, but the driver was insistent, “Let’s get out of here.  We’ve got to get them crates, too.”  Impatience added volume to his voice.  “There’s no-one else – you’re seeing phantoms.”  The tall man must have complied as there was the sound of a car door slamming, then the elderly vehicle backfired a couple of times before pulling away into a slow u-turn and heading back the way it had come.

Jack muttered a terse, “Stay put.” in Phryne’s direction and pulled himself up on his elbows just far enough to be see over the top of the ditch.  He followed the vehicle’s progress until the glow of its tail lights faded to nothing.  Phryne went to speak several times but each time she found herself summarily shushed until she gave up and waited crossly for Jack to give the all clear, tapping her heel into the dirt with pique. 

A full five minutes later he turned back to her and courteously offered his hand to help her to her feet.  Of course she ignored him, muttering a few choice phrases along the lines of ‘high handed’ and ‘cautious to a fault’ and ‘completely able to look after myself’ before scrambling to her feet under her own power and striding off down the road without a backward glance.  

Jack watched her for a moment, nonplussed, before a wry smile crossed his face and he followed at more leisurely pace.

They were both wet and cold and stuck in the middle of nowhere, not to mention spectacularly covered in mud, but at least they were safe and sound.  For now.

 


	5. An Unexpected Diversion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The incidents of the journey have left Jack and Phryne vulnerable. And there’s still that little problem of being wet and muddy. What will they do? A fresh discovery takes on an interesting twist, and Phryne has an altercation with a bottle of whiskey.
> 
> I wish I could embed music to these posts – wouldn’t that be fun? Any suggestions for what would accompany this chapter? 
> 
> Read on, Macduff … (hey, if I’m going to misquote Shakespeare, I may as well do it goodly!)

Jack caught up with Phryne as she approached the scene of the crime.  He continued to take cautious stock of their surroundings, his eyes darting to and fro in an attempt to try and make anything out in the gloom, but the landscape was bleak and featureless.  He let out his breath on a sigh. “That was close.”  His comment inadvertently covered the entire gamut of the last fifteen minutes or so.

“A little too close for comfort.” was Phryne’s measured response, accompanied by a heavily loaded look. 

Jack frowned, at a loss, trying to weigh up whether she was referring to the attack or subtly underlining her complaints of a few moments ago.  He presumed there was a fair proportion of both intended, with her annoyance at the way he’d held her in check no doubt still bubbling away under the surface.

He sighed again.  Phryne was a delight to work with, but also a constant source of bewilderment to him. His experience with ‘modern women’ was pretty much limited to her, and he often found himself wrong footed in their dealings.  Despite his best intentions, his expression closed down and his response was stiff and formal.  “If I seemed to be ‘heavy handed’ as you suggested, I sincerely apologise.  I was concerned for your safety, and mine.”

Phryne was immediately contrite and about to apologise when Jack continued in a censorious tone, “You take far too many risks, Miss Fisher, and you are often reckless and act without suitable care for your own wellbeing.”

The apology died in Phryne’s throat and she visibly bristled, “I hardly think you are in a position to dictate to me on the subject of my behaviour!” 

Jack flushed with embarrassment and an uncomfortable silence stretched between them. There was a snap as something broke through the scrub a few yards away, and they both visibly relaxed when a small pademelon hopped harmlessly away from them. 

“Yes, of course you’re right.  I’m sorry.”  His apology was stilted and he inclined his head towards her politely before turning back towards the road, setting off without another word.

Phryne watched him turn away, remorse at speaking so discourteously etched plainly on her face.  To Jack, of all people.  She could never stay angry for long with this serious, honourable man who only ever tried to do what was right. 

“Wait, Jack, please.”  She skipped to his side and laced an arm through his, pulling him back to her.  “You always have such a sensible approach to everything.”  She smiled up at him, her tone conciliatory.  “I daresay it wouldn’t hurt me to adopt a more cautious approach on occasion.”

Jack’s lips curled slightly, acknowledging her olive branch, but his response was brisk and all business.  “That’s as may be, Miss Fisher.  Truth be told I think you’d better stay close for the time being anyway.”  He glanced around again, on full alert.  “There’s no guarantee they won’t be back.”

“I’ll stick to your side like glue.”  She shot him a saucy look, her grin coming up only slightly short of cheeky.

“Just as long as you don’t turn into a thorn, you’re very welcome at my side.” Was his sardonic response, eliciting a very unladylike guffaw from the lady in question.  Equilibrium between them had been restored.

*“We’d better think about finding some way of getting to the Morrison Estate.  I don’t know how much further it is, or whether there are any other houses on the way.  I’ll need to get in touch with the local police as soon as possible.” 

“I’d settle for just being clean and dry,” she gestured vaguely at the layer of mud clinging to her clothes, before adding with a shiver “and warm.”

Jack tore his gaze way from the way her clothes clung wetly to her body, something he’d been at pains to ignore until she brought it to his attention, and immediately shrugged out of his overcoat.   Phryne had watched his eyes travel from her toes upwards and couldn’t resist a moue of satisfaction, but her expression morphed into gratitude as he draped the garment over her shoulders to give her some protection against the chill. Still holding the heat of his body and the scent of him, she slipped her arms into the sleeves and hugged it close around her, not questioning why it made her feel so completely comforted.

“Thank you.”  She squeezed his arm, “Come on Jack, let’s see what chaos our erstwhile assailants left in their wake.”

The first shocking discovery they made was the body of the driver, who lay like a broken doll in the centre of the road.  Phryne went to check for a pulse but Jack held her back before self-consciously dropping his hand from her arm almost instantly. “The bullet took him directly in the head.  Definitely a rifle.  Messy.” Jack frowned, “Interesting that they weren’t bothered about hiding the body, just leaving him here where he fell.” 

“A warning perhaps?” she wondered, moving slightly away to examine some shards of timber on the road.  She found Jack’s hat under the pile of timber and passed it to him with a smile.

Jack slicked the hair out of his eyes and settled his hat back in its proper place, looking pleased.  “You could be right, but a warning for who precisely?”

“And how on earth could they know we were on that cart?”  Phryne added, puzzled.  The streets had been deserted when they lucked upon the questionable mode of transport.

Jack was silent, his chin pulled into his chest as he thought through the events.  When he spoke his manner was speculative.  “Maybe they didn’t.  Maybe they weren’t even aiming at us.”

“What do you mean?  It felt very personal to me.”  Phryne sounded affronted, but then shrugged as she conceded his point.  “They didn’t try very hard to find us, did they?  You could be right.  In the confusion of the storm, and under that tarpaulin, they may have not even noticed we were there.  It’s not impossible.”

Jack didn’t disagree, but he still looked worried.  With a sigh he bent and gripped the body under the arms.  “I can at least get him off the road.  When we get to the Morrisons’ I’ll let the local boys know and they can retrieve the body.”

Between them they dragged the corpse to the side of the road, and Jack covered the man’s face respectfully with a scrap of cloth he’d found caught amongst the debris that was nearby.  The side of the road was littered with broken timber from at least one smashed crate and several other nondescript articles that had fallen from the cart when the horse had bolted.  Jack found the discarded tarpaulin that they’d used as shelter, grabbing it before a strong gust of wind could send it tumbling into the scrub.  He folded the cloth absently and stared at the dead man again, as if the lifeless body held the answers.  His sombre musings were interrupted by the sound of glass breaking, followed by a cry of pain from Phryne.  He spun towards the direction of the sound, alarmed. 

“Phryne? What’s wrong?”

She was standing on one foot, a little unsteady, and he quickly closed the gap between them and put an arm around her waist to support her.  The smell of alcohol was strong in the air.

“I think I’ve cut my foot.  I tripped on something -” 

“Maybe if you’d been wearing more substantial footwear instead of those silly open things.”  Jack snapped, concern lending an edge to his voice.

“Well I was hardly expecting to have to walk any distance, or tramp through a sea of broken glass.” Phryne waggled her injured foot gingerly, displaying the shoes to better advantage.  “And you have to admit they’re very pretty.” 

Jack kept his eyes studiously averted from the shapely legs brandishing the said shoes, and nudged the glass on the roadway with his foot.  The distinctive shape of the bottle, even in pieces, easily identified the brand. 

Phryne did a double take at the broken glass.  “That’s some particularly fine whiskey soaking into the dirt.  What a waste!”

They exchanged a quick grin, and Phryne tentatively put her foot to the ground.   Her fleeting wince, quickly concealed, didn’t escape Jack’s notice.  She kept a hand on his shoulder for balance while he crouched down and slipped off her shoe to more easily examine the damage.  She had a nasty cut on the side of her foot and blood had already dripped off her shoe onto the ground.  Using a clean handkerchief from his pocket he deftly bound the wound and replaced her shoe to hold the dressing in place. “How does that feel?”

“Perfect.”  Despite his clinical touch, there was something unexpectedly intimate about Jack’s hands on her foot and ankle.  Phryne found her mouth suddenly dry.  She cleared her throat, and tried for light-hearted. “I feel I could dance all night.”

Jack caught her mood, one side of his mouth quirking in amusement. “Are you suggesting we partake of some roadside revelry?”  He watched a wicked grin light up her face and rolled his eyes.  “I believe you would.  You are incorrigible, Phryne Fisher.”

“Well,” she said, looking pleased at what she perceived as a compliment, “There was apparently enough booze on the back of that cart to keep a horde of very thirsty Barbarians happy, if all these broken bottles are anything to go by.”  She part limped, part hopped to the side of the road, her eye catching on something glinting in the weak moonlight.  A grin spread across her face when she realised that, nestled in a tussock of grass, there was a full bottle of whiskey that had escaped damage. 

“Jack!  Come and see what I’ve found.”  She called out, delighted.

He followed her direction and knelt to examine her discovery.  When he stood, he was holding not only the bottle she’d seen in one hand, but also a different bottle full of dark liquid in the other.

“The Morrisons must like to party.”  Jack examined each of the bottles as well as he could in the dim light. 

Phryne leant close to read the labels but couldn’t make much out.  “Mmm.  Makes me feel all cosy and warm just looking at that whiskey.”  Her eyes darted to the second bottle, widening in surprise as she recognised the familiar label.  “And, do my eyes deceive me … Absinthe?  I haven’t seen any of that since Paris.  Wasn’t there a move to have it banned here, too?”

Jack shook his head, “No, it didn’t come to anything in the end.”  He held the bottle up and the contents shone a deep green in the available light.  “Completely legal to produce and import.”  Despite his words, doubt lingered in the look he gave her. 

“What’s bothering you, Jack?”

He held the bottles towards her again “You can’t see much in this light, but the labels on both bottles look amateurish, and the seals are poorly finished.”

“Not something you’d expect to see on either of those brands.  Sly groggers?” Phryne suggested.

He shouldn’t have been surprised that she followed his thoughts so well, and he nodded in agreement.  “That’s my guess.  What I’m wondering whether there may be some connection to the business we came here to investigate in the first place.”

Phryne took the bottles from him and slipped them into her bag without a word.  A sudden gust of wind sent a shower of rain in their direction, a reminder that they were exposed both to the elements and the possibility – whether they had been targeted or not - of another attempt on their lives should the murderers return.

Jack shoved his hands in his trouser pockets, absently rattling the loose coins there. “Come along, Miss Fisher.  I think it’s time we got a move on and see if we can’t find a slightly more hospitable neighbourhood.”

“Lead on, Inspector!”


	6. A Little Night Music

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poor Phryne and Jack have been out in the elements for far too long. It’s time they got a little more cosy. Jack gets a little handsy (he he), Phryne enjoys the ride (he he) and they have a roll in the hay. Well, hay is involved, but probably not in the way you’re thinking.
> 
> Super-duper long to make up for the random irregularity of my posts – unavoidable, I’m afraid.
> 
> So, to that end … in vino veritas!

Jack cast an eye at the clouds scudding across the sky as the rain surged and ebbed with the rhythm of the wind.  A few stars shone through the clouds but offered no guarantees the squall wouldn’t build again.  The air was redolent with the almost metallic smell of ozone.  He strained unsuccessfully to see the hands on his watch, but guessed it must be getting on for about nine o’clock.  The temperature had already plummeted for this time of year, no doubt due to the intensity of the storm front.  A night spent in the open was not something he cared to contemplate.  He turned once more to Phryne, concern furrowing his brow.  “Seriously now, do you think you can walk a little?”

Phryne responded with aplomb.  “Absolutely!  Nothing much holds me back.”  She flicked Jack a sideways look, tinged with reproach. “You should know that by know.”

Except perhaps this.  After a few steps she was limping, and after a very few more she found herself having to stop.  There was a wide patch of blood showing through the dressing and Jack called a halt to their efforts, gesturing to her injured foot.  “I don’t think you’re going to make it very far.”

She stubbornly took a few more steps, until Jack placed a hand on her arm. 

“Phryne, enough.  Look at your foot; the cut is obviously deeper than I realised.  I should never have asked you to try.”

She had tried her best to walk unaided but had to concede that progress was difficult.  “I never thought a little scratch would slow us down.”

“Don’t be so stubborn. It’s more than a ‘little scratch’.”  He ignored the mutinous expression that settled on his companion’s face and continued, “We’d be better served finding somewhere to shelter and try and keep warm.  Perhaps in the morning there’ll be more chance of some traffic along this road and we can cadge a lift to Nyerimilang.”

“Is that the town where the Morrisons’ estate is located?”

“The town, and the name of the property.”

Phryne pulled Jack’s coat more securely around her and tried to look unconcerned. “Don’t fret, we’ll just have to think of something else.  If you’ll just give me your arm for support I’m sure we’ll manage famously.”   

Jack didn’t look too hopeful, but acceded to her request reluctantly, wrapping an arm around her waist while she put an arm around his shoulders.  It took only a few yards before she had to rethink her plan.

“Stop, stop.  I feel like I’m in a bizarre three legged race that I have no earthly chance of winning.”  Phryne sighed, letting her arm slip from Jack’s shoulders.  “I can’t put any weight on my foot.  There must be some glass still in the cut.  It hurts like the very devil.”

Jack frowned, “Well, we can’t stay here.  There’s no sign of light or life anywhere.”  He spun around, searching for something, anything, to offer some shelter.  All that could be seen in any direction was low mangrove scrub and tussocks of sedge.  “I’ll have to carry you.”  He placed his hands on her hips and made to lift her up, but she smacked his hands away with a surprised laugh.

“What on earth are you doing Jack?”

“Standard fireman’s lift, Miss Fisher.”  He reached towards her again with a hint of impatience.  “Come along.” 

Jack’s businesslike tone only managed to rile her more, and a defiant expression settled on her face.  “You’re not carrying me over your shoulder like a sack of potatoes, Jack Robinson!”

“It’s the only way we’re going to cover any distance.  I don’t have the strength in my arms to carry you any other way.” 

“I’ve seen you in a bathing suit, Jack, and I’d hazard a guess you would have the stamina for all sorts of things.”  She shot Jack a look heavy with meaning, but continued in a light tone. “But there’s no need to worry.  I have a better idea. Turn around!”

Jack tried to swallow past his discomfiture, hesitating until Phryne placed her hands on his shoulders and spun him around, indicating with the pressure of her hands that he should crouch down.

It was his turn to be confused.  “Miss Fisher, what in heaven’s name are you doing?”  He tried to look back over his shoulder at her but was careful not to move too quickly and accidentally knock her over. 

She giggled and hopped with him, admonishing him to keep still and crouch down.  “You can piggyback me!  Lower, Jack.  This skirt is quite narrow.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”  Jack was referring the bizarre ‘dance’ they seemed to be doing, not the thought of carrying her. He waited until she stopped and then crouched slightly as directed, his mouth twisted in wry amusement.  “So now I’m to be your trusty work horse?”

“More like my knight in shining armour.”  Phryne grunted delicately as she lifted herself onto Jack’s back, settling her legs into the stirrup of his arms.

“Are you sure you can handle me?”  Her question was all sweetness.

Jack’s snort was derisive. “Yes, Miss Fisher, I’m sure.”

“Well, then.” She tapped his shoulder with her hand. “Giddyup!”

“That’s enough.” 

“Whoa.”

“Stop it, Miss Fisher.”  Jack employed his best detective inspector voice which, as usual, had little effect in restraining Phryne’s high spirits.

“Stop what?”  Phryne’s tone was innocent, the wicked smile on her face lost on the back of Jack’s head.  He didn’t deign to answer, but paused to loosen the stranglehold she had around his neck.

Not one to be averse to supplying sound effects if circumstances allowed, Phryne blew her breath out through her lips in a very good imitation of a horse nickering, a soft, breathy whinny that effectively put paid to conversation for some time, at least from Jack’s point of view.  With one last  _harrumph_ from Jack, they set off down the road, his back ramrod straight evidencing his determination to get them to shelter.  By contrast, Phryne was enjoying every second of her ride, her face shining with pleasure.  Every now and then she would make a comment in Jack’s ear, mostly met with silence but interspersed with the occasional chuckle at her antics he was unable to suppress.

After half an hour or so of progress this way, Jack began to relax and his almost military pace had slowed to a more comfortable walk.  Phryne fell silent, her cheek settling on the comforting strength of his shoulder, her eyes almost lolling closed as she revelled in the warmth they generated from such close physical contact. 

Moments later she straightened without warning, causing their curious caravan to falter. 

“There, Jack.”  She pointed to a spot at the bottom of a low hill.  Her excitement transferred itself to Jack and he stopped short, following the line of her arm as she continued with jubilation.  “Surely that’s something there, some sort of house?”

There was the merest outline of a structure, a darker patch against the gloom behind it that could be a building.  He made a beeline towards it.  As they came closer, the moon broke through the clouds and they could see it was a small shed, well maintained, with a fence around it, a few hundred yards from the road.

Jack eased Phryne to the ground and she leant on a handy fencepost for balance. 

“Stay here, I’ll check it out.”  He told her, keeping his voice low so the sound wouldn’t carry.

She nodded and watched as he vaulted the gate, landing softly on the dirt of the track leading towards it.  He hunkered down and approached the shed cautiously, and Phryne lost sight of him as the gloom swallowed him up.  Several anxious minutes later he was back, a grin brightening his face.

“Clean, dry and as far as I can tell, unoccupied.  Well spotted, Miss Fisher. I think we can finally get out of this rain.”

This time he lifted her into his arms without discussion and strode across the distance to their shelter, setting her down inside the shed as he dug around in his pocket for the small tin of wax vestas he always carried.  He used a thumbnail to flick a match alight to inspect their surroundings.  It was surprisingly well appointed for a shed out in the middle of nowhere.  Phryne used her flint wheel lighter to better illuminate their refuge when the match puttered, and the smell of naphtha overtook the acrid sulphur of the vesta. 

“Well, I must say this is several steps up from a night spent outside under a bush.”  Phryne took in the brightly painted interior, and what looked like veterinary paraphernalia hanging from nails on the wall.  There were several large animal stalls along one side, all standing clean and empty, and a head high stack of sweet smelling bales of hay against the opposite wall.  The wind still managed to find its way through a few gaps but on the whole it was weatherproof.

Jack busied himself inspecting every corner.  “It looks well used; there must be a farmhouse nearby.  Shall I see if I can find it?”

“Oh Jack, I’m too tired to worry.”  She perched on a bale of hay.  “Let’s just camp out here and get dry.”

“Look what I found.”  He presented her with a stub of a candle as if it were a bouquet of flowers, and she grinned with pleasure as he lit it, sending a flicker of light that glowed between them.  Phryne took one look at him and a comical expression crossed her face. “I’m not sure I want to see myself.  If I look half as bedraggled as you I must look a fright.”

Jack gave her a steady look and answered in the serious way he had. “Considering we’ve been shot at, rolled in mud, rained on and generally maltreated, you look lovely, as I’m sure you’re aware.  I don’t know how you manage it.”

Pleased surprise shot across her face. “A compliment, Jack?  You spoil me.”  Her smile took any sting out of the words.

“Yes, you look … very glamorous, despite the mud.” He quirked an eyebrow and frowned slightly, “Perhaps not your typical workman’s wife, but you’ll do.”

“A good gardener is more artisan than labourer, Jack.” she said by way of defence of her fashion sense.

“That’s as may be …”  Though the slow scrutiny he gave her ensemble was filled with doubt, it still caused a flush of awareness to stain her cheeks and for the first time in a great while she was unsure how to respond.  But only for a moment.

Phryne chose to looked affronted.  “I think I’m dressed perfectly appropriately!  I’ll have you know Dot and I put a lot of care into choosing my wardrobe for this sortie.  Besides, just because the clothes are cheap, doesn’t mean I have to be.  Style is available to everyone, regardless of the disparity of arm length to pocket depth.”  She ran her hands down the material of her skirt.  It clung to her thighs and the mud – now drying – fell off in clumps as she did so. “This top dressing of dirt is perhaps overegging the pudding.”

Jack concentrated on undoing the wire on several of the bales of hay, spreading a thick layer on the floor with quick efficient movements.  Using another bale as a backrest, he managed to fashion a fairly basic divan so they could rest comfortably.  He helped lower Phryne onto the ground, and she sighed with relief as she relaxed into the sweet smelling hay.

“I’ll have another look at your foot.”  His hands were gentle as he removed the now blood-soaked handkerchief.   He used an old tin lid for a candleholder and inspected her wound.  “Now that I have some light, I can see a piece of glass still in there.  No wonder you couldn’t walk.  Do you think you can stand it if I try to get it out?”

Phryne nodded, “Make it quick.”

With a few deft moves, he had the large sliver out.  Phryne let out the breath she didn’t realise she was holding.

Jack was still holding her foot, and looked around hopefully.  “Now if there’s some fresh water here, it could really do with a clean-up.”

“Who needs water when we have whiskey?”  Phryne responded with good humour, pulling the rescued bottle out of her bag with a triumphant grin.

“Are you sure you want me to use that?  It’ll hurt like hell.”

Phryne shrugged.  “Better than footrot.”  She glanced around. “God only knows what germs are lurking in this place.”  She uncorked the bottle and doused one of her linen hankies, passing it to him with exasperation when he hesitated.  “Just get it over with.  Please, Jack.”

“Here goes.”  Jack gritted his teeth, pulling a face as if he was the one about to be hurt.  He swabbed the area quickly and Phryne’s gasp of pain ended on a groan as the alcohol burned the wound.  She eyed the bottle in her hand and shrugged, taking a decent swig of its contents.  The fire in her throat almost matched that in her foot and she dismissed Jack’s startled look with a gasped, “Medicinal.”

Jack kept silent as he carefully re-dressed her foot with a clean hanky from her bag.  When he finished, she patted the straw next to her and he shifted to her side and made himself comfortable. 

Phryne held up the whiskey bottle to him.  “Here.  I think you could do with a swig as well.  You’ve gone quite pale.” 

He accepted the bottle without comment and considered it for a moment before raising his eyebrows with a shrug that matched hers.  He took a gulp, coughing as the liquor hit his gullet. 

“That’s …” he cleared his throat and tried again. “That’s …”  The fumes made his eyes water.

Phryne laughed at his reaction.  “ _Godawful_ is the adjective you’re looking for.  It definitely does not live up to the promise of the label.”  She held her hand out, demanding with a gesture that he pass the bottle back to her.  “But infinitely warming and welcome, regardless of the quality.”

Jack wiped the back of his hand across his mouth as he passed the bottle back to her.  “Technically we shouldn’t be drinking it.  It’s evidence, after all.”  he felt honour bound to point out.

“There’s plenty of evidence on the roadside back there, if that’s what you’re worried about Jack.”  She took a slightly smaller mouthful than last time, vainly attempting to suppress a shudder, before passing the bottle back to him.  “Perhaps this can be considered part of our investigations?”

“Perhaps.”  He smiled, and took another swig.  When she shook her head at the offer of another drink he jabbed the cork back into the neck of the bottle and propped it up between them.

“I’m still cold, even if the whiskey is doing an excellent job of warming me from the inside out.” 

“I think I can fix that.  If you’ll give me my overcoat?”  She slipped her arms out of the sleeves and handed the garment over with a moue of regret.   Jack wasted no time in spreading it over them both before pulling great mounds of hay on top of it again.  “There, that should do it.”

“Very ingenious, Inspector.”  Despite the dampness of their clothing, the thick insulating layer of hay worked very successfully to keep them warm.  Although Jack really hadn’t thought it through and jumped when Phryne edged closer under their ‘blanket’.  He froze as her arm crept around his waist, the warmth of her body already seeping into his chilled flesh. 

“If we share body heat, we’ll be so much warmer.”  Phryne made the proposition sound very ordinary, and Jack did his best to pretend exchanging body heat with Phryne Fisher was an unremarkable event.  When that didn’t settle him down, he gulped and attempted light conversation as a distraction, his voice even huskier than usual.  “Did you learn that when you were trekking in the Himalayas?”

“No,  _The Boys Own Book of Adventure_ when I was ten.”

Jack didn’t know where to put his hands and he eventually settled on one arm along the hay bale that served as their headrest, and the other hand in his pocket. “I gather you must have been a bit of a tomboy?” 

Phryne grinned at the memory, lapsing back into the broad Aussie accent of her childhood to reply.  “Not half.”

Jack tried to create a little physical distance between them but Phryne was too intent on getting warm, and burrowed against him with renewed enthusiasm.  In the process, the bottle of whiskey dug into his side and he grabbed it in desperation.  “Er … another drink?”

That got Phryne’s attention and she sat up straight away.  “Excellent plan, Jack.  More whiskey.”

He passed her the bottle with a sigh of relief.  He found her closeness was becoming impossible to ignore and his first instinct was to divert her attention.  The nearest thing to hand was that dwindling bottle of whiskey.  Which in this case may have been a strategic blunder 

“And when we run out of whiskey, there’s still the bottle of absinthe.”  Phryne was starting to feel a little lightheaded, and hung on to Jack’s arm as she took another drink. 

Jack looked alarmed, and attempted to fill the ever narrowing gap between them with words. “You know what Ernest Dowson said about absinthe, don’t you Miss Fisher?”

“As a matter of fact, I do … he very infamously said ‘Absinthe makes the tart grow fonder.”  Phryne delivered the quote on a deep chuckle, her delight at the sentiment evident.  “Are you calling me a tart, Jack Robinson?”

He sputtered, the combination of rotgut alcohol and Phryne Fisher robbing him of cogent thought and thus a coherent response.  This time he needed no prompting to have another drink and took the bottle from her without apology.  As the straight alcohol hit his stomach, he rolled his eyes and swore under his breath, frustration at his lack of composure lending heat to the word.

The expletive sounded odd on Jack lips and Phryne swung around to give him a look, half puzzled, half amused. “Jack, language!” she chided softly. “That’s not like you.”

The look he gave her was diffident, the corners of his mouth barely curling into a restrained smile. “My apologies.”

She gave a throaty chuckle, “No, Jack, I take no offence.  That’s not what I meant.”  She didn’t elaborate, instead yawning widely, and then settling against him once more and closing her eyes ready for sleep.  Jack relaxed, his arm falling without conscious thought to drape around her shoulders.  “But,”  Phryne added, sleep tingeing her voice, “never let it be said that there aren’t one or two situations where some basic Anglo Saxon might be … appropriate.”

Jack harrumphed at her suggestive tone and jerked his arm away self-consciously, but Phryne snuck a hand up and put it back around her shoulders, squeezing his wrist reassuringly. “Don’t be so worried, Jack.  There’s no-one here to see us.”

“Are you trying to provoke me, Miss Fisher?” He asked with mock severity, resolutely moving his arm for the final time.  He refused to be drawn into the little game she was fond of playing. 

“Yes, and apparently I’m having no success whatsoever.” Was her ironic rejoinder.

He shook his head at the pout he could hear plainly in her voice.  “Don’t be so sure.” 

Although the words were muttered in an undertone, his face averted, Phryne caught the gist.  She examined him through slitted eyes, trying to gauge how far she could push him, and reluctantly decided she taken things as far as she dared on this particular occasion. The flicker of the candlelight danced across the planes and angles of his face in a way that captivated her, but she sighed and let her body relax. “You win, Jack.  No more teasing.  For now.”

He huffed with satisfaction, and determinedly shifted further away from her until there was a modicum of space between them, at least just enough to preserve his sanity.  “Why don’t we let the alcohol do its job and get some sleep, hmm?  We may still be up for a long walk in the morning.”  Jack snuffed the last of the candle and the whistle of the wind surrounded them.  What moonlight found its way into their refuge lacked the strength to cast even the barest shadow.  Only then, under the cover of darkness, did Jack let a Cheshire cat grin ease over his face, confident in the fact that he couldn’t be observed. Despite what he’d said he thoroughly enjoyed their sparring.

“I, for one, am going to sleep like a baby.” Said Phryne, inexplicably piqued and wanting to get in the last word.

Jack’s smile stayed in place as he stretched out his lanky frame and made himself comfortable for the night, still preserving the semblance of distance from his exasperating companion. “As am I, Miss Fisher.  As am I.”

Not another word was spoken.  And neither of them got a great deal of sleep at all that night.

* * * * * *

Jack woke first, the sun warming his face.  The slow realisation that he had a warm, soft and very female body pressed against him, one leg wrapped around his, an arm flung over his chest, filled him with pleasure.  The events of the previous evening flashed into his mind and brought him relentlessly back to earth, but he ignored the imperative to move as a hint of French perfume charmed his senses.

He could definitely get used to this.

He played possum for a minute or two more, eyes closed, enjoying the tranquillity of the moment.  His peace, however, was short lived.

“I say, are you two all right?” A male voice boomed from the direction of the door, and Jack eyes snapped open.  “You wouldn’t happen to be Mr and Mrs John Richardson?”  At Jack’s bemused nod, the other man laughed heartily.  “Well, I’ll be blowed.  The entire estate staff have been searching for you all night, and here you are virtually on the doorstep, cosied up in the nursery farm shed!”

“Do you mean we’re near the Morrison’s home?”

“Well of course!  The house is just over that rise behind us, about a quarter of a mile away as the crow flies.”

Jack and Phryne exchanged dazed looks.  So close, and yet … so far.

Their ‘rescuer’ merely sniffed, mistaking their expressions for something other than stunned disbelief.  “Hmph.  Newlyweds.  I s’pose I should count myself lucky I didn’t stumble on you going at it like bunnies.  Now  _that_ would make a story to regale  _mater_ and  _pater_ at dinner this evening.”

Phryne watched the dark red of his blush move up Jack’s face and reacted in typical Phryne fashion.  What started as a giggle found purchase as a full belly laugh, the sound echoing in the hay strewn shed. 

Perhaps in other circumstances Jack would have found her laughter amusing.  Perhaps in other circumstances he may even have joined in.  Instead, his eyes rolled skyward as his lids fluttered shut, and his chin sunk down to his chest.  Detective Inspector Jack Robinson was struck dumb with embarrassment.  Which only made Phryne laugh all the harder with delight. 


	7. A Slight Increase in Temperature

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gardening – finally! (Just kidding – shenanigans keep getting in the way). 
> 
> After a night in each other’s arms (minds out of the gutter, people, it was all very innocent, gosh darn it!), our intrepid investigators reach the relative safety of the Morrison Estate and clean up – er – all around.
> 
> Humble apologies for the huge delay in posting this chapter, to those who have given me the compliment of following, favouriting, reviewing and checking in for more of this story. Life continues to bombard me with lemons, but I hope I can get my writing pace going again now and sit back and enjoy some well-earned lemonade.

With an indolent flick of the wrist, Phryne’s hat landed squarely on the overstuffed sofa, followed closely by her own good self beside it, as she flopped down onto the faded splendour of the upholstery.  A cloud of dust rose around her from the impact of her weight on the lumpy cushioning, a halo of motes dancing in sunlight against the jet of her hair.  Jack was mesmerised by the sight and watched, fascinated, as her lips twisted in a wry smile at the barrage of grime descending on her person.  Her delicate sneeze punctuated his reverie, bringing him back to the moment.  Their eyes touched for a second before Jack withdrew his gaze abruptly, missing the transition of Phryne’s smile from amusement to tender affection.

Jack’s flush of embarrassment was as involuntary as it was swift.  His subconscious wasted no time in redirecting his disquiet at finding himself once again staring transfixed at his partner, to the self-assigned role of feeling somehow personally responsible for the sad state of the little cottage they’d been assigned.  He picked up her discarded hat and ran his fingers lightly around the fine wool brim, brushing a fleck of dirt away as his mind flicked back inexorably to the scene in _Nyerimilang’s_ kitchen only a little over an hour ago.

Having been hastily deposited by their erstwhile rescuer into the care of a rather stiff necked butler, with a nonchalant order to “Dust these two off and take them through to Mother” the partners found their immediate fate sealed.  They were led into the country house through the estate kitchen, where - to Phryne’s immense amusement – they were bundled towards a tall fabric screen to the side of the massive cooking range with orders to strip and pass out their muddied and crumpled clothes for cleaning.

Jack paled and tried to stand his ground, but the matronly housekeeper, a Mrs Dora Drummond she informed them, lately of Bendigo, speared him with a beady glance that brooked no argument.

“You’ll do as you’re told, young fellow-me-lad.  You’re not going before ‘her ladyship’ in that state.” The woman sniffed the air and pulled face, “Or smelling like a barnyard.  Get behind there with your lovely missus,” She beamed at Phryne who was already shrugging out of her jacket.  Phryne’s wide guileless smile had already charmed the crusty housekeeper, who was feeling quite protective of her charge.  “We’ll have you both all tickety-boo in no time.” When Jack still didn’t move she gave him a sturdy push, wresting his hat from his white knuckled grip as he stumbled past.

Phryne’s amusement hadn’t dimmed throughout the process and although she was yet to speak a word, the look she gave him spoke volumes.  Deciding that to do anything other than acquiesce would simply complicate their cover story, Jack did his best to submit to the ministrations offered with good grace, aware of Phryne’s eyes on him the whole time.  The fact that their luggage and any change of clothes their trunks had contained had also disappeared with the horse and dray the previous night, likewise gave him pause. At least they would be relatively clean again.

He took shelter behind the screen as far away from his companion as he could in the small space available to them, and slid his tweed jacket down over his shoulders.  Avoiding her eyes, he passed the jacket to the waiting hands of Mrs Drummond. He found he couldn’t look directly at Phryne without blushing like a lad, and dredged up a fascination for the copper jelly molds that hung along the wooden beam directly above them, studying their shape intently.

“Trousers?” came the disembodied edict from the housekeeper, and a work roughened hand was thrust around the end of the screen.  Jack stood stock still, the muscles in his jaw working furiously.  He felt rather than saw Phryne sidle up to him, her tone teasing and meant only for him.

“Need a hand my sweet?”

His eyes locked with hers, panic obvious in his expression.  He was abruptly aware of her state of undress, his gaze drawn unwillingly to the expanse of flesh left uncovered now that she’d complied with Mrs Drummond’s request.  Only a no-nonsense black slip protected her modesty, a fact which apparently bothered Phryne not at all. 

“No thank you.” His voice cracked and he cleared his throat self-consciously, adding in a hoarse undertone. “I’ve been managing to undress myself for years now.” He tilted his head at her defiantly, aiming for cool detachment but fearing he failed completely.

“Oh but Jack, a dutiful wife should always assist her husband in any way she can.” She whispered, and placed a hand lightly on his waistband as if to follow through on her pronouncement, but he slapped it away testily.

“Stop it, Phyrne!”  Exasperation raised his tone and volume, and girlish giggles from two young kitchen maids on the other side of the screen reminded him that they were truly not alone. They stood nose to nose for several seconds, her spontaneity vying with his reserve, before he placed his hands on her shoulders and spun her around until she faced the wall.

Jack leaned in close to her ear, his breath fanning the back of her neck, and growled softly. “Don’t move a muscle or I _will_ arrest you.”

* * *

Jack didn’t think he’d ever be able to recall the precise moment when his undercover operation descended into farce, but he rather thought it may have been when he found himself eating a full cooked breakfast behind a tasteful fabric screen in a grand country house kitchen with The Honourable Phryne Fisher, in their under garments, while the residue of their night’s misadventures was deftly steamed, brushed and pressed from their outer clothes by a veritable army of competent domestic workers.  Try as he might to inject some gravitas into the situation, he found he was enjoying himself far too much to try too hard.

When they finally emerged from behind the screen -- fully clothed -- the housekeeper put her seal of approval on their appearance with a nod of satisfaction, which somehow made everything all right.

Jack offered his arm to Phryne, his humour now restored in tandem with his dignity. A hearty breakfast always set him up ready to tackle anything.  Including Phryne Fisher. “Ready Mrs Robertson?”

“Ready Mr Robertson.” She retorted, her eyes sparkling with the mischief she was no doubt plotting.  Jack gave her a narrow look; a mild caution to her to behave, and she rolled her eyes in response and looped her arm through his.  The way she leant into him reminded him that she was still favouring her injured foot, and he silently berated himself for forgetting her discomfort.

“Are you all right?” He indicated her foot with a glance.

“Never better, love.”  Her accent was pure middle class Australian and she grinned back at him.  She gave his arm a tug. “Come along, we shouldn’t keep the lady of the house waiting any longer, Mr R.”

A maid ushered them into a small, sunny room, its dimensions rendered even more claustrophobic by the sense of overwhelming busyness. A massive collection of paintings depicting every known species of flora garnished every flat surface, leaving only a fleeting impression of the lolly pink that had been chosen to grace its walls.  Fresh flowers filled a dozen vases of different shapes and hues, their scent heavy in the air.

The woman who greeted them was short and stout and very pretty.  Dressed in flowing silk with a long strand of pearls that bounced on her ample bosom as she walked towards them, she offered a delicate touch of her soft fingers by way of a handshake to each of them, and led them to a settee angled in front of a handsome pair of French doors with a view across the hills to the sea beyond.

Adele Morrison noticed Jack inspecting the collection of paintings and offered breathlessly. “I’ve been trying to capture the quality of light M’sieur Monet manages in his art. Not very successfully, I’m afraid.”  She glanced at her efforts and regret flickered across her face before she brightened and continued. “But I’ve just discovered Margaret Preston – so much simpler to imitate!  I love her covers on Woman’s World magazine.  Such a sensible publication and such charming pictures.”

Mrs Morrison leant towards them, an excited smile lighting her face. “John – may I call you John? – I don’t believe in all that old fashioned surname nonsense. So much nicer if we can all be friends, regardless of our station, don’t you think?  What was I saying? Ah yes,” she clapped her hands together like a little girl. “I have such grand plans for the east garden, and the coppice near the bluff – it really needs the work of a specialist to bring it back to full glory!  I’m so pleased that you’ve come to us at last.  Such a lovely recommendation came from your last employer.” She allowed herself the briefest of pauses to take a breath before the words tumbled on with an extravagant gesture of her tiny hands. “Flowers everywhere, a veritable sea of colour. Peonies, wallflowers, hollyhocks, whatever you feel would be suitable.  I will trust your judgment implicitly. Can you do all that for me?”

Jack nodded, ready to launch into a well-researched, credible dialogue on floral species and the value of sheep manure for optimum growing conditions, but Mrs Morrison didn’t give him a chance to do more than open his mouth in response before she went off on a conversational tangent that took him into far more dangerous ground.

“You are such a handsome couple! I can see the light shining from both of you.  I read auras, don’t you know, and I can see the love surrounding you both.”  She stopped suddenly, frowning a little and peered keenly at Phryne.  “You are such a spectacular shade of clear red, my dear.  Remarkable.”

“Red?” Phryne asked sweetly.

“Clear red, dear, it’s quite different to just plain red.”

Phryne looked suitably chastened and enquired politely. “What does it signify?

Mrs Morrison looked chuffed at her interest and responded enthusiastically. “Oh it’s a very powerful colour.  Those of us who are blessed with a clear red aura are energetic, competitive, sexual, passionate.  But your husband’s aura fascinates me, too.”

“Oh really?”  Phryne adopted her ersatz employer’s demeanour and leant forward, her face animated. She felt Jack shift uncomfortably on the cushion beside her but couldn’t help herself. “Do tell.” 

The older woman studied Jack for a few moments while he struggled not to look anything other than pleased at her attention.  “Deep, deep red.” A frown creased her brow. “With a smudgy grey overlay, almost like a border along the edge.  That’s unusual.”

“And what does all that mean?” Phryne asked, riveted despite her deep-seated scepticism.

“Well, deep red signifies that John is very grounded, realistic, active, with a strong will-power.  And survival-oriented.  A good man to have at your side, my dear.  You’ve chosen well.”

“And the grey?” Phryne flicked a sideways glance at Jack and let a tiny grimace pull the sides of her mouth downwards. “Sounds a bit boring.”

“Not at all my dear, it means guardedness, blocking energy.”  Her look at Jack was earnest. “You must learn to be more open dear boy, and follow your heart.  You can make yourself quite ill by continually blocking energies. It’s potentially dangerous.”  The little woman appeared quite distraught for a moment before her smile returned and she stood abruptly.  Jack followed suit, giving his hand to Phryne as she too rose, their audience apparently at an end.

Mrs Morrison confirmed this by crossing to a small bell pull near the French doors, and tugging enthusiastically.  “Off you go then, and please make yourself at home here at _Nyerimilang_.”  She closed the gap between them with surprising speed, and shook Jack’s hand again, this time with gusto. “I have high hopes of you my dear John.  But please, don’t even think of starting anything today.  I understand that you both had a rather disconcerting trip last night, so you must rest up and settle into your little cottage.” She turned to Phryne, continuing. “And that you are only very recently married, I hear?”

Phryne slipped her hand into the crook of Jack’s arm possessively.

“Yes, indeed, Mrs Morrison.  I couldn’t bear to be apart from my John for months at a time so I … sort of forced his hand.  In marriage, that is.”  Phryne cast a sidelong look at Jack, whose lips twisted wryly at her remark.

The two women laughed together as women sometimes do at the funny ways of their menfolk, until Mrs Morrison sighed happily, no doubt remembering her own nuptials “I hope you’ll be very happy here Frances.  Such an auspicious start to your new life together.” 

The door opened and the stiff necked butler entered, his expression of polite enquiry as much a part of his uniform as the shine on his shoes.

“Frederick will take you to your quarters.  I’m sure you’ll be very comfortable there.  It’s a charming little house, perfect for newlyweds, far better than the room here at the house we had earmarked for you as single man, John.  Welcome, both of you.” With that she wandered through the French doors onto the terrace, eyes focussed on the horizon, and disappeared abruptly from view into the rose garden.

* * *

“Perfect for newlyweds?”  Phryne scoffed from her position on the sofa.  A quick inspection of the rest of the cottage had showed one bedroom with, it had to be said, a very generously stuffed feather bed.  The kitchen obviously also served as the bathroom, a large metal tub and another fabric covered screen tucked into one corner. A fine layer of dust covered most surfaces.

“Well, it is very … cosy.” He ran a finger around his collar nervously, the thought of living at such close quarters with the lady detective almost overwhelming.

“I’ve owned pocket handkerchiefs that were bigger!”  Phryne jumped to her feet in exasperation and flung out both arms, waggling her fingers.  “If my fingernails were slightly longer I’d be able to touch both walls at the same time!”

“No-one asked you to come, Phryne.” Phryne looked taken aback at the vehemence of his words and Jack immediately regretted his outburst.  His voice when he spoke again was softened with apology. “It will be fine.”  He looked around doubtfully, misgiving lingering in his voice, “A bit of spit and polish is all it needs. I’ll get it looking tidy in no time.”

Phryne gave him a droll look, “Really, Jack, I may look merely decorative, but I’m quite capable of domesticity in the right circumstances.  I just choose to exercise those skills as little as humanly possible.”

“I know you’re not decorative –“

“Jack! I’m crushed.”  She didn’t look particularly crushed. Quite the opposite, in fact.

“I mean -- I wasn’t suggesting -- !” Jack was flustered by her teasing, and tried to backpedal, fast.

But his discomfort increased exponentially when she followed that up with a pout, fluttering her eyelashes coquettishly, and quipped in a sultry tone, “You never do.”

Thoroughly discombobulated, Jack could only stare at her open mouthed.

A knock on the door saved him from further teasing and he swung away from her to open it.  A young girl, a kitchen maid by the look of her copious apron, was on the stoop.  The wicker basket she carried weighed her down and Jack stepped forward quickly to help her with the load.  Her sigh of relief was almost comical and her smile of thanks was pure gold, adding sparkle to a somewhat plain face.  She gave a little bob.

“With Mrs Morrisons’ compliments, sir.”  The maid’s curiosity got the better of her and she peered around Jack to inspect the cottage, her eyes colliding with Phryne’s, who waved at her gaily.  The maid’s smile faltered and she looked down at the basket, stumbling over her words.

“It’s a- a- a- hamper.  For dinner and such. There’re some lovely things in it, just wait and see.  And Mrs Drummond sends her apologies for not being able to have the cottage cleaned properly before you arrived.”  She screwed her hands together, looking harassed.  “We’ve just had a houseful of guests, you see, only got rid of the last few of ‘em this morning.” She looked up at Jack a little wistfully. “We didn’t know you was bringing a wife until last night.”

Jack tried to put her at ease. “Please don’t upset yourself, Miss – er.”

“Drusilla, sir.”  She gave another little bob, and her shy smile peeped out again.

“Drusilla.  Everything is perfectly fine.  Please thank Mrs Drummond for the hamper.”

“Yes, sir.”  She started to turn away then swung back around, scrabbling in the large pocket of her apron.  She held out a bundle wrapped in cloth.  “I nearly forgot.  For the missus, for her sore foot.  Mrs Drummond said to soak it in Condy’s crystals and then use the Moore’s ointment as a salve.  And wrap it up tight overnight.  There’s some Aspros in there too, for the pain.”

Jack’s smile of thanks as he accepted the package had the maid giggling and backing away, before she turned and ran back towards the main house at full speed.

Jack hefted the basket through the door, handing the cloth bundle to Phryne.  “Is everyone here a little odd or do I just need a good night’s sleep?” he asked, distracted, eager to inspect the contents of the wicker basket.

“I believe you may have bowled that maiden over, Jack.”

He pulled out a jar of some sort of preserve and examined it closely. “What are you talking about?”

“Our love struck little maid. I think you’ve won a heart.”

Jack’s replied with a signature eye roll and turned his attention back to the hamper. “There’s enough food here for week.”

“I’m saved from your famous fry up then?”

His lips quirked into a wry smile.  “For now.” He glanced at his watch, pushing the hamper to one side reluctantly. “I’m going to do a bit of a reccy, see if I can find anything out.”

“Like what?”

“Who the house guests were, for a start. I’ll have a chat with some of the other estate workers and see if any names crop up regarding that shipment we were sharing a ride with last night.  And I need to tell the local boys about the driver’s murder, if they’re not already aware of it.”

“How will you do that?”

“They know I’m here.  There’s a young lad in the stables by the name of Harry who’s the son of the local copper.  He knows to keep his mouth shut and can take a message in to town.”

“I’ll have to get in contact with Dot at some stage and ask her to send some more clothes seeing as we only have what we’re wearing now.”

“I can do that, and Collins can do the same for me.”

“Excellent!  In that case, I’m going to take the redoubtable Mrs Drummond’s advice and soak my poor foot.  I may even manage to be a dutiful wife and throw a duster around our lovely abode.”

Jack slid a hand through his hair and put his hat in place, tugging the brim down securely.  “Don’t strain anything.”

With a quick grin in her direction, he was gone.


	8. A Definite Change in Circumstances

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A midnight stroll along the promontory, moon at the full, the gentle whisper of a sea breeze ruffling Jack’s hair. Ah, sounds romantic, doesn’t it? Not bloody likely!
> 
> No weeds were harmed in the making of this chapter. Nor singlets donned in the hot Australian sun. Sorry about that.

“There have been some interesting developments while you’ve been out gallivanting around.” Phryne’s voice came from the tiny kitchen, the rattle of crockery accompanying her pronouncement.

Jack flung his hat next to the ladies blue wool cloche that still adorned the sofa and moved to inspect the small fire grate on the opposite wall. The wind had picked up again while he’d been out and echoes of last night’s storm snuck through the front door behind him as he returned, bringing a chill to the room.

He crouched down and poked the ash in the grate experimentally with a stick of kindling, sending a thin film of dust over his hands. He didn’t notice. His brow was creased in thought.

Phryne appeared in the doorway holding a wicker-edged tray aloft, a triumphant smile adorning her face. The tray was stacked with mismatched cups, saucers and plates, the latter bearing a dazzling array of tempting tidbits that she had unearthed from the hamper. She gave the tray a little shake, hoping the resulting clatter would break Jack’s silence, but he remained as he was, staring into the mess of grey powder.

Phryne’s brows came together and she opened her mouth to ask what was wrong. But the frown morphed back into a grin when her eyes strayed beyond Jack to the two suitcases set just inside the front door. They were both muddy, and badly scratched and dented, but reassuringly familiar.

“Our luggage!” She placed the tray hurriedly onto the side table, before swinging back towards the cases. “Aren't you clever!”

“Leave them Phryne.” Jack was on his feet in a flash, his fingers lightly encircling her wrist. She gave him a quizzical look, but stayed her movement towards them. Jack released his grip and hastily shoved his hands in his pockets, leaning a hip against the back of the sofa.

Phryne glanced between the cases and Jack, her face a picture of curiosity. “Where did you find them?”

“On our front doorstep, just now.” Jack spoke quietly, the timbre of his voice particularly deep.

“How odd. I didn't hear anyone.” Phryne stared at the cases for a moment before her eyes jumped to his face, uneasy. “How did they get there?”

Jack removed a hand from his pocket to run his fingers along his jaw distractedly, “That really is the question, isn't it?”

Phryne frowned and turned her attention back to the luggage. “I daresay we should have a look and make sure everything is there.”

“Let me check them over first.” Jack squatted and ran an eagle eye over the locks and hinges, more closely inspecting the bright silver scratches on the metal that could indicate whether the cases had been opened. He felt Phryne’s presence at his back, her frustrated curiosity rendering her impatient. He shifted his weight to one knee, effectively placing himself between the cases and her, and consequently blocking her view. His tiny grimace when he heard her huff with annoyance may have been edged with a grim kind of satisfaction.

“Come on Jack, let me see.”

“One minute more, Phryne, please.” He bent in closer to inspect each suitcase, particularly the joins where the lids overlapped the bases, running a feather light touch along that part of each case. He could almost feel the waves of exasperation coming from the direction of his companion, but still he didn't speak.

“Good grief, Jack, what are you looking for? Booby traps?” Phryne joked, but when only silence met her enquiry, she froze, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Are you Jack? Looking for booby traps?”

Jack gave a shake of his head in reply, only the whistle of a sharp westerly disturbing the scene. It took a few moments longer of careful scrutiny before the tension finally left his shoulders, and he was satisfied that there was no obvious threat. He ran his hands over the locks of his own case, using his thumbs to release both catches at once. The sharp report of the spring loaded catches made Phryne jump despite herself, and he glanced dryly over his shoulder at her before opening the case more fully.

He eyed the jumble of clothes with misgiving, “Well, someone’s obviously had a good look through mine.”

Jack repeated the action with the other suitcase and a riotous froth of colour and lingerie met his eye. He hastily closed the lid and stacked the cases one flat on top of the other before unfolding himself from the floor.

Phryne rubbed her hands along her upper arms, the goose bumps she found there not entirely due to the coolness in the tiny cottage.

“Do you really think we're in immediate danger?”

“I’m not sure.” Jack looked troubled. “There was something odd about the way the bloke with the rifle acted last night. He had a sniper’s walk; soft-footed, but sure.” Jack took in Phryne’s worried frown and went on more moderately. “Whatever was in the wind last night, it’s difficult to believe whoever had a good look through the bags did so with an honest eye.” With a grunt of effort, he hefted both cases up, and carried them through to the bedroom, the bed being only place large enough to lay them out flat to have a proper look.

Phryne lingered in the doorway and leant against the jamb, her arms crossed over her chest. Her eyes narrowed as she watched him set down the cases, his movements deliberate and steady.

“Just _what_ did you do in the war, Jack Robinson?” Her tone was as speculative as the look she was giving him, and Jack found both disconcerting.

He did his best to make light of the enquiry, “No more, or less, than most other men.”

Her eyes narrowed suspiciously, but it was not the right time to explore his response. “Hmm. I'll let you get away with that. For now.”

The threat of further interrogation only spurred Jack into a more comprehensive review of his belongings. “Damn, the binoculars I packed are gone.” He uttered with irritation. He continued taking careful inventory of his possessions behind the cover of the suitcase’s lid.

Phryne watched him for a moment longer, before moving to the other side of the bed and flinging open her own case. She wasted little time on examining the contents, giving her clothes the merest flick through.

“Dot packed my bag, so I’m not entirely sure which clothes she ended up putting in. We bought so much on our shopping spree! I only added a few essential personal items at the last minute, but there does seem to be a couple of things missing.”

“Like what?”

“Well, I had a rather lovely set of mother-of-pearl and silver travelling brushes that don't appear to be here.”

Jack inclined his head in sympathy at their loss. “No doubt the temptation for a little easy money was too strong for whoever found it?”

Phryne continued her desultory inspection, poking a hand in each of the corners before uttering a dismayed, “Oh.”

Jack glanced up, distracted. “What is it?”

“My Dutch cap is missing.”

“Haven't you got another one?” Jack asked, waving a hand in the general direction of the navy blue cloche she'd discarded earlier. “How many hats do you need?”

“It’s not a hat, Jack. It’s my family planning device.” Phryne’s delivery was matter-of-fact, but devilry danced in her eyes. Jack made a choking sound, his face flushing bright red. Phryne continued playfully, “But perhaps that has no bearing on the case.”

Jack’s hand shook a little as he ran his fingers across his brow, trying to disguise the sudden dry mouth that had him swallowing convulsively. “You just come out with things like that to make me squirm, don’t you?”

“Of course! Your reaction is always so delightful.”

“I really wish you wouldn’t.” As the words were uttered, Jack realised Phryne would more than likely only take that as a challenge, and her next words confirmed his fears.

“But you're so utterly sweet when you’re embarrassed. I could never deny myself that pleasure.”

Jack shut his suitcase – and his mouth -- with a snap, lost for words and far too discomfited for the thought to even form as to why Phryne would pack such a thing in the first place.

Phryne left her belongings where they were and touched his arm as she sidled past, remarking with her usual _sang froid_ , “Come along Jack, our tea will be getting cold.”

Taking a seat on the sofa, Phryne made a show of pouring two cups of tea, handing Jack his cup once she'd made it the way she knew he liked. “It’s actually quite disturbing. Whoever left the suitcases here may actually have been tied up with our little _contretemps_ last night.”

Jack took a sip of tea before replying, giving himself a moment or two to regain his composure. He was left inevitably wondering whether the appearance of their cases could be merely a coincidence or constituted a threat. It felt like a threat. “And they know that we're here.”

Phryne held out the plate of savoury pastries, her grin just shy of a smirk. “That could make things interesting.”

Jack’s smile in reply was a little strained. “No need to sound so enthusiastic about the prospect.”

“Jack,” she admonished as he bit into a curry puff, “You know I would never choose the quiet life.”

His reply was lost around the last of the pastry, but his eye roll was easily discerned. He swiped the crumbs from his lips with a cloth napkin Phryne passed to him.

“It could all be perfectly innocent of course.” But she was frowning, despite her optimistic suggestion.

Jack chose to remain silent but his lips curled cynically as he took another pastry, inspecting it with an epicure’s eye.

Phryne watched him polish off the treat before continuing. “It’s not totally inconceivable that our things fell of the cart when the horse bolted, or the cart itself was found. One of the staff could have just found them when they were out looking for us, simply put two and two together and quite rightly delivered them here when they realised where we were.”

“Possible, although they were strapped on good and tight on that cart so I doubt they fell off, even with the speed that poor horse put on after the bullets started flying.” His expression darkened. “And one might reasonably expect a cart peppered with bullet holes to elicit a comment or two had it been discovered by an innocent party.” Jack settled back in his seat and absently patted his midsection. “I had a good chat with most of the outdoor staff while I was out, introduced myself around, that sort of thing. Nobody mentioned anything untoward.” He finished off the last of his tea in a gulp and looked hopefully at the teapot. Phryne obliged without comment, her sidelong glance at him accompanied by an amused expression.

Jack continued in a more conversational tone, “By the way, I tracked down young Harry in the stables and our communiques have gone out. He’s a good kid.”

“Did you learn anything of note from your excursion?”

“Not a word about the murder, or anything related to our little adventure, except some rather ribald comments about how – er – where we spent the night.” Jacked huffed through his embarrassment. “I was able to put together a fairly comprehensive list of the recently departed guests. I've sent it off to Collins to see if he could find out anything about them that might relate to criminal activity.”

“Excellent. I’m sure Dot will be close at hand to render whatever assistance she can.” Phryne tried to deliver that information without any mirth colouring her voice, and failed.

Jack smiled widely, both at Phryne’s amusement at the idea of Dot being ‘close at hand’ to assist Hugh, and in anticipation of his partner’s reaction to the other information he'd collected. “There was some talk about some fishing vessels coming in to one of the islands just below the promontory here during the past few weeks, and again last night. Apparently there’s a sandbar that usually keeps deeper hulled boats away, so the locals were a bit surprised at the activity.” He paused for effect. “Guess what the name of the island is?”

Phryne leant forward in her seat, the scent of a trail putting a sparkle in her eyes. “Rotomah Island? The same island our two tweedy ‘friends’ at the hotel spoke of?”

Jack nodded with satisfaction and stood, looking for his overcoat which he spotted on a hook near the front door. He rifled through the pockets until he found the map of the area. “One and the same. I plan to take a midnight stroll and see if I can spot any activity.”

“ _We_ can take a midnight stroll.” Phryne’s tone was ruffled, but she deflated a little when Jack looked pointedly at her bandaged foot, now propped on couple of cushions on the floor. Jack took his place next to her on the sofa and spread the map out over their knees, his voice distracted while he familiarised himself once again with the coastline. “I am _not_ offering to carry you again. It would hardly make for a covert manoeuvre.”

“I think I could manage it Jack.” Phryne picked at the frayed arm of the sofa dejectedly. “I'd rather come with you than stay here and be a sitting duck while you're gone.”

Jack grimaced, accepting that there was a potential risk either way. He considered the pros and cons, finally admitting to himself that he actually found it much less stressful when he could keep an eye on her anyway.

“Fair point.” he conceded, “Perhaps it’s best you come along after all. We’ll take it easy, but --” he gave her one of his most severe detective inspector looks, “-- you must promise to do as I ask when I ask, or I’m sending you back on the first train the Melbourne in the morning.”

Phryne beamed back at him and solemnly used her index finger to make a cross sign just above her left breast, which merely made Jack raise his eyebrows with skepticism. Her humour restored, she spread some potted cheese on a biscuit and crunched it with enthusiasm, feeling somewhat disloyal to Mr Butler as she enjoyed its robust flavour. Jack had his head bent over the stiff paper of the map, squinting at the tiny print. She found herself studying the waves and stray curls his afternoon’s activities had rendered on his usually so properly constrained hair style.

“How are you at interpreting maps, Miss Fisher? There’s something here I can't quite make out.”

Phryne was snapped out of her reverie, and answered gaily, glad of the distraction. “Quite good, in fact! I was, er, acquainted,” she flicked a quick, eloquent glance at Jack who returned the look with a distinct lack of expression, “with a rather famous cartographer for a short while when I lived in London.”

“Of course you were.” Jack deadpanned.

“Actually, he was rather more infamous than famous.” Recollection of the liaison lent her voice a raspy tinge which in turn gravelled Jack’s impatient response.

“The map, Miss Fisher?”

Phryne ignored the acerbity in his voice and bent her head closer to his while they each studied the steep declivities below the homestead that quickly gave way to a graded shoreline. A narrow strip of land jutted out abruptly from the shore, reaching out towards Rotomah Island but falling short by several hundred yards. Phryne followed a strip of palest blue on the map with a slender forefinger as it swooped like an algebraic curve past a number of unnamed islets as well as the one currently the focus of their attention.

“The sandbar is plain to see, at least, although the depth around there could have changed since this map was drawn if the currents are strong enough on a regular basis. There’s a symbol here I've never come across. Like a double “s” struck through diagonally.” She lifted her head, almost bumping noses with Jack, but neither was inclined to pull back. Phryne felt her eyes drawn invariably to Jack’s mouth, and was briefly distracted, pulling herself together after a moment or two. “I'm not familiar with it, I’m afraid.” She said, referring of course to the marking on the map.

Jack swallowed, his pulse quickening as his eyes flicked inevitably to _her_ lips. He continued to be transfixed as he attempted to parse an intelligent answer. “Hmm. It’ll have to remain a mystery for now.” He said, referring of course to the marking on the map. “If we station ourselves at the top of the bluff we might be lucky enough to experience some nocturnal activity.”

They broke eye contact self-consciously, and Jack made a little _harrumph_ , fiddling the knot of his tie as if it was too tight. They each leaned back in their seat.

Jack decided it was time to change the subject. “What was it that you were going to tell me when I came back earlier?”

Phryne was pensive, and only half heard his question. “Hmm?”

“You said there had been some interesting developments?”

Phryne’s gaze swung towards him, surprised, and momentarily worried that he’d been reading her thoughts. “Nothing anywhere near as exciting as your discoveries, I assure you.” Phryne smoothed the skirt of her dress along her thighs and adjusted her injured foot on its cushions.

“Merely that Mrs Drummond sent over some silk sheets. I shall sleep like a baby tonight.”

____________________________________________________

So for the second time in as many nights, Jack found himself once again concealed in a shallow ditch, with The Honourable Phryne Fisher prone at his side, her shoulder against his and her hip tantalisingly near. But the rain held off, though the wind whipped their hair around their faces, and they waited for something to happen.

____________________________________________________

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note: When I couldn’t find out actual facts I made stuff up.


End file.
